


discipline

by storiesfortravellers



Category: S.W.A.T. (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Caning, Discipline, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Paddling, Season of Kink 2018, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: Set after the Season 1 finale:  Street misses SWAT but he especially misses Hondo, and the way Hondo cared enough to discipline him.AU where it's normal to spank adults as punishment.





	discipline

**Author's Note:**

> For season of kink bingo card square "impact play."
> 
> Content warning: depicts physical punishment between characters who are unequal in power in the workplace and emotionally.

Street looked down at his ringing phone. 

Hondo.

Hondo was calling him.

Dread crept into his stomach. He couldn’t talk to Hondo. Every time he thought about Hondo, it felt like their fight had just happened- rage and pain and betrayal and guilt and regret and just too much all at once.

But… Hondo might need him for something.

“Yeah?” Street said, hoping it didn’t come off rude.

“Hey, man, it’s Hondo. How are you doing?”

“I’m, uh, good. I’m, yeah, I’m really good.”

“Great. So I was thinking it’s time for us to talk – maybe you can have dinner at my place. What do you think about that?” Hondo said. His voice was gentle, like he knew the question was going to send Street’s head spinning. 

“Uh, yeah, definitely. I mean, yeah, I can do that.” 

“How about Tuesday?” Hondo said.

“I can do Tuesday. I mean if you want. I mean, Tuesday’s fine, but I can also do Friday dinner.”

Street closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. 

“Okay,” Hondo said, “See you Friday at 8.”

\--

After a couple of months of being part of the team, Hondo had made it pretty clear that he thought Street was in danger of veering off the ‘right path.’ His suggestion was that they should have dinner every Friday to talk about how Street was doing, what he could improve on – to hold Street accountable, in Hondo’s words. Street pretended to reluctantly agree – it was obvious that Hondo actually meant punishment, but Street figured if Hondo cared enough to punish him every week, that was more than anyone else had ever done for him.

And there was punishment. But it was more than that. Hondo would teach him how to cook, and they would talk, laugh, tell stories. Hondo would ask him about more than just work – they would have real conversations. And after dinner and washing up, Hondo would give Street the chance to admit to any rules he had broken, any poor judgment that he knew Hondo wouldn’t approve of. And then, yeah, there was punishment. And sometimes it was hard, painful canings, but only when Street really, really did something wrong. Usually, it was just a trip over Hondo’s knee, with his hand or a small paddle, and soon it was done. And no matter what, no matter how badly Street had messed up, Hondo would hold him close after, would tell him that the punishment was done, that everything was all right. It was as calm as Street had ever felt, the warmth of Hondo’s strong arms, inescapable, keeping him in place, letting him forget every gunshot he’d heard, every bleeding body he’d seen that week.

It had made Street believe all of Hondo’s words. About them being family.

When Hondo kicked him out, all Street could think about was how mad he was at himself. He was stupid enough to believe Hondo’s lies. It was his own fault.

But still, even knowing how dumb he was to fall for Hondo’s act, hearing Hondo’s voice, being allowed to come back to Hondo’s place, it made him want to cry with relief. 

He didn’t. He looked in the mirror and told himself that wasn’t going to fall for it again.

\--

Hondo had dinner ready by the time Street arrived. 

“Guess you don’t need my help cooking,” Street said, but Hondo just smiled and put some vegetables on Street’s place.

“You doing okay?” Hondo said, as Street awkwardly say down. He was still sore from the bruises after the bike race that didn’t go okay.

“Yeah, just worked out a lot yesterday.”

They made conversation as they ate, mostly just catching up Street with what had been happening on the team and other SWAT gossip.

After dinner, Hondo said, “So I’m guessing you’d like to know why I asked you here.”

Street nodded, looking down at his glass of water, but then making himself meet Hondo’s eyes.

Hondo sighed. “Look. If you want back into SWAT, it’s not going to be easy. I need more than words. But before we talk about that, I have to know – do you want back in?”

Street swallowed. “More than anything.” He intended it to come out bold, assertive, but his voice came out quiet.

Hondo nodded, then said softly, “Then let’s talk about what I need from you. First, I need you to show me you understand why I did what I did.”

Street looked down. “I lied to you.”

“And?”

“I… argued. Was disrespectful.”

“Street. It’s not that you argued. Luca and I argue. Deacon and I argue. It’s that instead of taking responsibility, you shut down. You shut me out. We depend on one another. Our lives depend on total trust. People get killed when there’s not that trust there – do you understand me?”

Street nodded. 

“So I need you to show me that you understand and that you’ve changed.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I wish I had a way to know that what happened won’t happen again. But that’s on you, Street. It’s your responsibility to figure out a way to make it right. You see what I’m saying?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Okay. So that’s what I wanted to tell you. That it’s on you to show me you belong on the team. But also to tell you… the door’s not shut forever. Not yet.”

Street stared for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks,” he said, mouth dry. He didn’t know how to say everything he was feeling, but he could say thanks.

Hondo patted him on the shoulder and smiled. Then he stood up and walked Street to the door. “Good luck, man.”

Street just nodded, then left.

He got about a minute away, then turned back and knocked on Hondo’s door.

As soon as Hondo opened it, Street said, “I lied. About the workout. I got beat up because I tried to make extra money by racing and then I lost. And I’ve been doing stupid stuff basically all the time. And I wanted you to think that I’m being responsible and mature but I’m still a complete fuckup. Maybe worse than ever.”

Hondo took a second to process. Then he put his hand on Street’s shoulder and said, “I’m glad you told me. Honesty’s a good first step.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be open with me right now. It’s not my job to be mad at you for everything you do wrong.”

Street knew that he should just say thank you. For some reason, he said, “Well, I guess that’s the first time in your life you haven’t judged someone, so I guess we’re both growing.” Then he turned around and walked away.

Hondo followed, and Street braced himself just in case Hondo punched him in the face.

Hondo didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Hondo never would.

But he said, “What the hell was that, Street?”

Street just stared at him, defiant, and shrugged.

Hondo paused, then said, “Get your ass back in that house, Street.”

Street rolled his eyes and walked into the house. Hondo gestured toward the couch and Street sat down.

Hondo sat next to him. “So. That triggered something. When I said that I wasn’t mad. You want to tell me why?”

“It didn’t bother me,” Street said.

Hondo said, voice stern, “You remember why you’re here? Because you shut down instead of telling me what’s up.” There was a threat in his voice, and Street really didn’t want to undo the night’s progress.

“Sorry.”

“Why were you angry?”

Street wanted to shrug again, but it would just make him feel like a stupid smartass kid. And he was trying to show that he was more than that. “You said it’s not your job to be mad at me.” It was humiliating, in a way, to have to say that. That Street wanted it to be Hondo’s job. 

“Oh,” Hondo said, then looked down, seeming to think. He moved his knee to just jostle Street’s knee. “You want to know something funny?”

“What?”

“I was thinking that maybe the reason it didn’t work out last time was because I was too hard on you,” Hondo said. “I was trying not to make the same mistake twice.”

Street looked at him, confused. Then he realized why he was confused. Hondo had just basically admitted that he was scared of messing up their relationship. He just opened up and made himself vulnerable to Street even though Street had just been a complete dick to him. 

And it worked. Hondo opened himself up, and then the trust was back. 

And that’s what he wanted Street to be able to do.

Street took a deep breath. “It was my fault it didn’t work. It wasn’t anything you did. You… did everything you could to help me. I do know that. Even if it seems like I don’t know that.”

Hondo smiled and gave Street a light pat on the cheek, and Street resisting leaning into his hand. 

Street decided to take a chance. “And you have to know why I wanted to do this on a Friday.”

Hondo paused. “If I’m not your team leader, it’s not my right to punish you, Street.”

“But you said that we’re… you said that SWAT is more than a job.”

“Right. We’re family.”

Street stared at him. He couldn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to. 

“Oh,” Hondo said. “When I stopped punishing you, you thought that meant we’re not family any more.”

Street just shrugged.

“That’s not what I meant,” Hondo said, hand moving gently to the back of Street’s neck. 

“Okay.”

“Is it really okay?”

“I--” Street’s mouth was dry again. “I think maybe I need Friday dinners….”

Hondo looked at him, and it felt like forever. But then he nodded. “Okay. Because you were honest about what you need.”

Street nodded, exhaling.

“So. I'm going to punish you, and you're going to accept the punishment," Hondo said, waiting for Street to nod, then continuing, "Illegal bike racing, huh? With bets you couldn’t afford to pay?”

“Yeah,” Street said, sheepishly.

“It'll be 50 swats with a long paddle for that. And 5 with the cane for lying.”

“Yes, sir,” Street said. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. But he deserved it.

“Let’s get it over with,” Hondo said and gestured.

Street moved to bend over the back of the couch, and dropped his jeans and boxers around his ankles. Hondo came back with the implements and said, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The paddle came down hard on Street’s ass. He managed to not make any noise, but then it hit him again, three times in a row, fast and just as hard. Street couldn’t keep still and he let out a small whimper against his will. 

Hondo moved to rub his hand on Street’s back in comforting circles. “You can cry and yell all you want, baby, but keep in position, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hondo landed several more smacks of the paddle, this time keeping a regular rhythm. He paused and ran his fingers through Street’s hair.

“Doing good, baby. Halfway done with the paddle.”

Hondo kept going, the paddle feeling like fire on Street’s ass and thighs. Soon, he was crying, yelping at each stroke.

Finally, Hondo put the paddle down. His fingers slid gently to the back of Street’s neck. “Why are you being punished, Street?”

Street wanted to sob, wanted to say that he was bad, that he was worthless, that he was sorry, that he was nothing and was terrified he’d always be nothing. But he knew that’s not what Hondo was looking for. 

“Because I showed poor judgment. And I lied about it.”

“That’s right,” Hondo said, then added, “Are you doing all right, baby?”

He could tell. Hondo could tell that Street was holding something back.

Street felt panic. He could do the rest – working to get his place back, learn to stop lying to Hondo. But he couldn’t just break down completely in front of Hondo. Not for anything.

“Baby. If you can’t talk to me,” Hondo said, and Street waited for the threat, but it didn’t come, “Then just explain why you can’t talk to me.”

Street waited for a long time, trying to answer. His ass was burning, but Hondo’s hands were sliding up and down his back and all he wanted to do was stay like this forever. But finally, he answered, “I’m just feeling a lot of things. I can’t get into it, not right now. But I’m just feeling kind of… overwhelmed. Not from the punishment. Just from… other stuff.”

He waited to see if that would be enough, or if Hondo would abandon him again. But Hondo leaned down to kiss him on the top of the head. “It’s okay to feel that way. But this week, I want you to think about what you can do work through some of your feelings. About this other stuff. Think about who you can ask for help. Will you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” Street said, and he wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was just so relieved that Hondo didn’t hate him again.

“We can do the caning another time, Street.”

“No,” Street said quickly. “It’s not the pain. The caning is fine, it’s – I think… I think it’ll help.”

The cane would hurt. It would hurt enough that Street could forget just about everything when it was making contact.

“Okay,” Hondo said gently. He rubbed Street’s back again, then picked up the cane.

“Hondo?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be gentle? Please?”

Hondo paused. Then: “Okay. If you’re sure.” He sounded a little reluctant.

“I’m sure.” 

Hondo adjusted Street’s body so that the cane would come down right where he wanted, then let the first strike come down.

A line, searing, across Street’s ass.

Another one, then another. Street let himself sob. 

One more, then Hondo’s steadying hand on his back, pulling him back into position. 

The last one, _hard_ , and Street screamed and let himself collapse.

Hondo pulled him up then, carried him to the front of the couch and held him close, whispering to him that was all right, that it was done, that everything was going to be okay. Street nestled against where Hondo’s shoulders met his neck, felt the arms around him, tight, binding him there, and felt like he hadn't felt in months, felt like he was safe, felt like, finally, he was home.


End file.
